Chapter 10
Tanya’s eyes flickered open, and she stared round her vaguely, dimly aware that she was in some kind of vehicle, for she was swaying to and fro, and she could hear the sound of horses’ hooves. Her head was throbbing, and her vision dim. She seemed to see a shadowy figure leaning over her, and she smiled, holding out her arms.
‘Nicholas? Nicholas?’
The face withdrew a little, and with the action, memory came flooding back.
‘No, no, God forgive me. Nicholas, I have killed you, Virgin Mary help me, I have killed him.’
She moaned and tried to sit up, but a hand held her back, and she felt a cool cloth placed on her brow.
‘Hush now, and lie still. Whatever has happened is over now. Try to sleep.’
A kind voice spoke, and Tanya strained her eyes.
‘Who are you? I can’t see you. Don’t leave me, no, no, don’t take the light away. I don’t want to die without him. Ivan, Ivan.’
There was a worried exclamation, and a fur was placed over her. The voice spoke again.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you. The light is here, see? Try to sleep.’
Tanya sighed and, closing her eyes, fell into a deep slumber. When she awoke the second time, it was bright daylight, and wintry sunshine was bathing the plush seats of the travelling coach-sleigh in which she was lying. They were still moving, and for a moment, she wondered where she was, then all the terrible events of the day before came back to her, and she sat up with an exclamation, pushing off the rugs. Her head was still aching, although dully now, and she could feel a huge bruise above her eyebrow. She fingered it gingerly, grimacing, then stared around her in bewilderment. The interior of the coach was very rich, from the velvet seats to the ornate curtains covering the windows. She was quite alone, and the coach was moving at a very sedate pace, quite unlike the mad way Erik used to travel. This coach was very much like his, although lacking some of his greater extravagancies. At the thought, panic gripped her as for the first time she wondered into whose hands she had fallen. That they had been travelling all night seemed more than likely, so she might now be many miles from Moscow. This thought in itself was a relief, but it also left her completely in the power of her unknown companion. Suppose it should be some savage Cossack, carrying her away to the outer reaches of Muscovy – or a dissolute nobleman, secreting her away for his evil lusts!
Truly frightened now, by her imaginings, she knelt up at the window, and very cautiously drew back the curtain, peering timidly through the crack. The sight that met her eyes was so unexpected that she almost laughed aloud. Trotting alongside the coach, at a very sedate pace was a mule, loaded up with furs and looking very disgruntled. Perched atop the furs, fast asleep, sat a fat little man, his round bearded face beaming in his sleep, his fur hat tilted precariously over one eye. He was dressed in a coat of velvet, richly embroidered all round with gold, with a petticoat skirt reaching to his heels. Tanya had seen his type many times in the streets of Moscow and knew him to be a merchant. There were five or six outriders surrounding the coach, obviously guards paid to protect the merchant from brigands. She let the curtain fall back and leant against the seat. Where was she bound, and how would she be treated by the merchant? True, he looked harmless enough, but you could never tell. She crossed to the other side of the coach and peered out. All thoughts of jumping out of the slow moving coach were crushed, for there were guards on that side too. She sat pensively staring ahead, concentrating on her present predicament to stop the thought of yesterday’s events from crowding into her mind. If she dwelt on that for long, she would surely go mad!
The coach plodded on and on, until at last the horses were reined in, and it came slowly to a halt. Her heart thumping, Tanya pulled her furs more securely around her, covering her long, shapely legs which were still clad in the clerk’s hose and tried to look dignified. The coach door opened a crack, and the merchant’s face peered round. At the sight of her sitting up, it became wreathed in smiles, and he bowed jerkily.
‘You are feeling better, Madam?’ he exclaimed. ‘I must apologise profusely for running you down, the coachman did not see you until it was too late. I didn’t know what to do when you were knocked unconscious. What shall I do? I asked myself. I cannot leave this young lad – begging your pardon, but that was what I thought you at the time – lying here in the street. That’s what many would have done, I know, but that is not my way, I couldn’t do that. So, I said, I cannot stay to find out who you are, there are too many urchins in the streets of Moscow, so, what was I to do? Aha, I thought, I shall bring him inside the coach and carry him with us, and when he is better he can return to Moscow if he wishes, if not, I can find him employment – that of course being before I knew you were a lady. As soon as you came within the coach, I realised you were not what I had thought, and I was again in a quandary, for it is a different matter to carry a young girl with me, but I could think of no other course of action. When I saw how grievously hurt you were, all covered in blood like that, it made my mind up for me. So, we carried you off in the coach and continued our journey. I stayed with you until you recovered consciousness, then seeing you were sleeping peacefully, I left you and rode my mule – not the most comfortable method of travel, I might add, but I’m not a good rider at the best of times, and my old mule’s pace suits me well. I’m not as young as I was, no indeed. But you must forgive me, here I am, rambling on like the silly old man that I am, and I haven’t even let you tell me how you are.’
The old merchant paused for breath and looked at her anxiously. Tanya smiled at him warmly.
‘I am well, sir, I thank you, apart from a slight headache. I have indeed to thank you, probably for my life, for had you left me where I fell, as most people would have done, my fate would not have been an enviable one. Had they caught up with me, I should now be . . .’ she broke off and flushed. ‘But there, I do thank you once again. Was I hurt elsewhere? I feel no pain. You say I was covered in . . .’ With a cry of revulsion she sprang to her feet, the fur falling off her. She stared down with dilated eyes at the large, dried brown stain spread across the front of her tunic. She gave a little moan and, turning away, began to retch. With a cry of alarm, the merchant clambered up into the coach, putting a fatherly arm around her shoulders.
‘There, there, I have upset you with my clumsy talk. Here.’ He handed her a cloth, and she wiped her mouth, her shoulders heaving as she began to sob.
‘That’s it, my dear, cry; cry all you want. It will make you feel much better.’
So Tanya cried, bitterly, freely. She cried for the nightmare that her life had become, cried for her mother and sister whom she had loved, now long dead, for Sten’ka, for Erik, for Veda, for dear Nicholas – all dead. What was it about her that caused all those she loved to die? She must carry an aura of death with her. And Ivan – her beloved Ivan – had she killed him too? No, he had been breathing steadily when she ran away, although he was surely dead to her, for she would never see him again. What about poor little Peterkin? He too had probably been slain, in retribution for her escape. She wept until she had no more tears and turned wildly to the merchant, almost pushing him away.
‘Don’t befriend me,’ she cried. ‘I bring bad luck and death to those I love – you had best keep away from me.’
‘Nonsense,’ he replied stolidly. ‘You’ve had a bit of bad luck, I’d guess – yes, even tragedy perhaps, from what you were crying out last night – but you should know better than to believe that sort of thing. Everyone’s luck changes, and I have a feeling yours is about to. Now, if you feel up to it, we have arrived at a posting house. I thought perhaps you’d like a bath and change of clothes, and something to eat. I’ve given the orders already.’
Tanya looked at him gratefully.
‘How kind you are!’ she exclaimed wonderingly. ‘No one was ever so kind to me as you, except perhaps my dear old Sten’ka. You remind me a little of him – not in looks, but in the kindness in your face. I shall tell you of him one day – perhaps even the story of my life, although it is not a pretty one. Thank you, I should love a bath more than anything. And I should be more than grateful if you could procure me something a little more fitting to wear. It’s terrible to ask you, for I have no money to offer you. Once, I had more than I could spend in a lifetime, but now . . . But I will work to pay you back. I’m not afraid of work. I once worked as a kitchen maid, you know?’
The merchant laughed.
‘The more I hear, the more I look forward to hearing the story of your life. It sounds most intriguing. As for money – bah! I have far too much as it is. I shall do my best to find you something, though I cannot guarantee what. Here, wrap this cloak around you, or we shall have everyone staring. Come.’
Gratefully, Tanya wrapped the cloak around her, pulling the hood over her dirty, tangled hair. Leaning on the merchant’s arm, she entered the inn. There, he handed her over to the Innkeeper’s wife, who looked at her with a sniff, and showed her to a poky little room where a maid was struggling to fill a hip bath with hot water. Tanya sank down into a chair until the maid had finished, then, declining her offer of help, shut the door on her, and bolted it. With frantic haste, she began to strip off her clothing, shuddering with distaste. Stepping over to the huge log fire burning in the grate, she threw every stitch on to it, watching with satisfaction as the cloth shrivelled and turned black. So her past life should be finished too, burnt up in the fire, consumed and turned to ashes. She would turn her back on it all, and try to forget. Except Ivan. Him she would not – could not forget. He would hold her heart for the rest of her life, this she knew beyond all doubt.
She sat dreamily in the tub, soaking her tired aching limbs in the hot water. She felt unaccountably relaxed and guessed that the tears she had shed in the coach had probably saved her sanity. She was abruptly awakened from her reverie by a knock on the door.
‘Who is it?’ she called, wishing they would go away.
‘It’s the maid, madam. I have your clothes here.’
With a sigh, Tanya stepped out of the tub, braiding up her wet hair and wrapping the huge, soft towel around her. She unlocked the door, and the maid came in.
‘Here, madam. Do you require any help?’
Tanya shook her head and took the clothes held out to her.
‘No, I can manage, thank you. I shall be down in a moment. Is . . .’ she stopped and blushed, realising that she did not even know her benefactor’s name. ‘Is my travelling companion downstairs?’
‘Yes, madam, he is waiting for you to join him to dine.’
Tanya realised suddenly that she felt very hungry. Just an hour before, she would have been nauseated at the thought of food, but her new-found optimism had changed all that. She had no idea where the merchant had procured the clothes from, but they were clean, and not too large, so she quickly put them on and finished braiding her hair. She covered it with the white starched head-dress and surveyed herself with satisfaction in the rather cracked and chipped mirror. She looked quite dignified in the plain garb and, feeling more in command of herself, went downstairs. She was directed to the dining room by the innkeeper’s wife, who looked at her less severely. She entered the room and dropped a curtsey as the merchant rose to his feet. He clapped his hands together delightedly.
‘Ah, you look much more the thing. I’m glad to see you looking more cheerful. Won’t you join me for a little refreshment?’
Tanya laughed, for the huge spread on the table was hardly her idea of a little refreshment.
‘Thank you, sir. I must admit to being more than a little hungry. I don’t remember the last time I ate.’
She sat down and was soon eating hungrily. When their first hunger was assuaged, the merchant leaned back in his chair, nibbling a sweetmeat.
‘I must first repair my bad manners, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Olaf Brovski, widower – a merchant of Yaroslavl. I have been used to trade in gold and fine silks and spices. Not that I do much business these days – I am semi-retired. Unfortunately, my health is not good, and as I have made more money than I can ever spend, I am spending my time relaxing. And, may I add that I extend my hospitality to you for as long as you wish.’
Tanya blushed and looked down at her plate.
‘Thank you, sir, you are most kind. Of course, I cannot accept. I have nothing to offer in return. I am quite penniless, and I must admit, rather on the wrong side of the law at the moment. I should bring you nothing but trouble.’
‘Nonsense, child. I shall accept no refusals from you. Just where do you think you would go, out here in the middle of nowhere? I am on my way home, where I live quite alone and should be most grateful for the company.’
He held up his hand to check her attempt to interrupt. ‘I shall accept no arguments. Consider it settled. Later, when we are home, we will talk over what your plans shall be. I may add that I never had any children but always wanted a daughter. I should like to think that if I had, she would have turned out something like you. Not quite so lovely, I don’t expect, for I’m no oil painting, and my wife, God rest her soul, was more famed for her cooking than her looks, but there. Wrong side of the law or not, I’m quite convinced you have done nothing to be ashamed of.’
Tanya bit her lip, then looked him directly in the eyes. ‘I . . . I killed a man. Last night. My greatest friend. Now what do you say?’
‘I know,’ replied Olaf unperturbed. ‘You said as much in your ramblings last night. I am also quite convinced that it was a terrible accident. Is that not so?’
Tanya nodded, blinking back the tears.
‘It was him, or the man that I love. They were fighting, and Nich . . . my friend, got the upper hand. He would have killed Ivan, and I cried out, “No”. It stayed his hand, and instead, Ivan killed him. It was terrible. You see, he . . . Nicholas . . . loved me very much, and I betrayed him. Ivan . . . Ivan cares for me not at all. But I couldn’t help myself.’
Olaf nodded sympathetically.
‘I thought as much. It all sounds very complicated, but I shall not pry. When and if you are ready to tell me, when we are better acquainted, I shall be honoured to listen.’
Tanya looked at him shyly.
‘How kind you are! If you would be interested, perhaps you would like to ride with me in the coach. I will start from the very beginning and tell you everything. Already I feel as if I have known you all my life. I should very much like to have you for the father I never had. I know without doubt that I can trust you completely, and it will help me to get it off my conscience.’
So, soon, they were on their way again, sitting opposite one another in the swaying coach, and Tanya began to speak. She spoke simply and quietly, and the shadows were lengthening into night when at last she finished and leant back against the cushions with a sigh. She looked anxiously at her new-found friend to see what effect her words had had. He was shaking his head in wonderment.
‘I’ve never heard such a tale in all my life,’ he cried. ‘It comes from between the pages of a fairytale book. And to think you have lived through all those terrible things, and still look so young and untouched. It’s quite incredible.’
Tanya smiled a little sadly. She had told the little merchant most about her life, but had skimmed over certain parts, notably where Ivan was concerned, for she felt she could speak of her innermost feelings for him to no one, not even her benefactor.
‘I may be untouched from the outside, but in here, I shall never be quite the same. In here’ – she touched her heart – ‘in here, I am old, tired, and more than a little ugly.’ She smiled wanly and passed her hand across her eyes. ‘I’m very tired, do you mind if I try to sleep now?’
‘Of course not, Tanya. I may call you that? Thank you. In about an hour, we shall reach the next staging post, then another few days travel, and we shall be home. You shall have plenty of rest and good food, and you will soon be blooming and healthy again.’
After a long and rather tiring journey, during which Tanya had ample time to get to know her new friend better and to appreciate what a good, kind man she had been lucky enough to fall in with, the tired horses at last pulled their coach through the streets of Yaroslavl, a thriving community standing on the banks of the River Volga. Soon they were drawing up before a large, brick-built house which Olaf indicated with a broad sweep of his hand.
‘My humble home,’ he cried. ‘Welcome.’
They entered the house, which was luxuriously decorated and furnished. It consisted of about thirty rooms, Olaf informed her, and he had a staff of five servants to run it for him. Because he was not a noble, he was not allowed to own serfs, so the servants were, for the most part, a little better, dressed and educated. They had all assembled in the hall to meet their master and stared at Tanya in undisguised antipathy as she entered on Olaf’s arm. He sensed this immediately and introduced her as Tanya Doriev, the daughter of his old friend who had now died and left her in his care.
‘She is my ward now and will be to me the daughter I never had. You are to treat her with the respect she deserves,’ he informed them severely and led her forward to introduce her to them. They now smiled and shyly bade her welcome, and Tanya somehow knew that this was a happy house, and one where she would find the peace she needed to get over the horror of the past few weeks.
Tanya followed Olaf into a large drawing room set off from the main hall, and sank wearily into a chair, smiling at her host.
‘That was very sweet of you to introduce me like that, but haven’t you rather committed yourself? I cannot continue to live off you in this way.’
‘I won’t hear another word,’ cried Olaf and beamed down at her. ‘It would make me very unhappy if you should go away, have you thought of that? I don’t want to go back to my dull old existence – you have put new life into this old carcass of mine. I feel better than I have felt for months. You shall stay for just as long as you want to, but if you really wish to leave at any time, of course, I shall not stand in your way. But won’t you let an old man have his way this once?’
Tanya looked at him with tears in her eyes.
‘Very well, my dear friend – for I already look upon you as such. Indeed, I feel as if I have known you for ever. I promise not to mention the subject again. I shall stay for as long as you need me, I promise. But remember, whenever you want me to leave, you have only to say. Now, I shall not say another word. I am well versed in running household matters and shall seek to pay back your great kindness to me by taking from your shoulders such burdens as I can.’
Tanya had one more favour to ask of Olaf before she tried her hardest to eliminate from her mind all the happenings of the past few months. She asked him if he would send an emissary to Moscow to find out what had happened to the brave child, Peterkin, who had risked everything for her sake. He was most willing and despatched a groom off to Moscow the next day, with instructions to ask discreet questions and to do everything in his power to trace the child. He was gone for over a month until Tanya almost began to think he had absconded with the purse Olaf had given him for expenses, bribes, and such. However, eventually he arrived back, besmeared with mud, tired and dispirited. He had tried all in his power to find out what had happened to Peterkin, but it seemed the lad had disappeared into thin air.
With a heavy heart, Tanya had to accept this, for Olaf would not hear of her going back to Moscow herself; indeed, he became quite upset when she showed signs of going, regardless, and she was forced to concur that she could do no more than Olaf’s servant – indeed, probably far less, as she herself was wanted there. So she regretfully gave in, although she would often think of Peterkin and wonder what had become of the small urchin who had taken a corner of her heart.
During the following months, Tanya was as good as her word. She soon had the house running smoothly and efficiently, and Olaf was always exclaiming that he couldn’t imagine how they had managed before she came. She threw herself whole-heartedly into her work, mainly to ease the ache which was always in her heart, partly for Nicholas, and partly for Ivan. She still yearned for him with every fibre of her being; it seemed to make no difference that they were separated irrevocably by more that just miles. She pushed him sternly into the back of her mind, for she was convinced she would never see him again, and probably, she told herself fiercely, that would be for the better. He knew now that she loved him, and she often bitterly regretted revealing her feelings to him, for he probably despised her now more than ever. And so, she tried hard not to think of him too much, and it was only at night, as she lay alone in the huge, comfortable bed that her feelings overcame her, and then she would weep into her pillow and murmur his name over and over until she fell asleep. But mainly she was as happy as she could be in her new life. The months of quiet and order were a balm to her battered spirits, and it was good to have one day follow another in calm order.
During the long winter evenings, she would sit with Olaf by the roaring fire and listen in wonderment as he told her of the boats he had owned, and how when he was a young man, he had travelled to the Orient, bringing back the gold and spices that had made him his fortune. He had sailed the Volga River up to the port of Arkhangelsk and, from there, across the oceans. He spoke of how he had been away when Yaroslavl endured a disastrous fire which destroyed most of the city’s few remaining wooden buildings, and how from this point onwards Yaroslavl began to develop as a city built almost exclusively out of bricks and mortar. Since the founding of St Petersburg by the Tsar, Arkhangelsk had become far less important as a port, and he was only glad he had made his fortune when he had.
And so the weeks slipped by, and summer came and went. With the drawing in of the nights, Olaf seemed to get thinner, and his face was often drawn in pain. One winter evening, Tanya came into his study to find him leaning back in his chair, his face white and drawn, and she flew across the room to kneel at his side.
‘Olaf, Olaf, what is it? Are you in pain? Let me fetch the physician.’ He nodded, gasping for breath.
‘Yes, my love, please. They tell me it is the wasting disease, which has been getting worse for many years, but especially over the past year. The old rogue can do little for me, but he has some vile potion that eases the pain.’
Tanya ran out of the room and sent one of the maids to fetch the apothecary. He arrived quickly and gave Olaf some of his medicines.
‘You must stay in bed, old friend,’ he ordered sternly. He turned to Tanya.
‘See that he has this medicine every day. It will not cure him, of course, but it will ease the pain.’
Tanya walked to the door with the physician and looked at him worriedly.
‘Is he very ill?’ she asked quietly. ‘Please tell me the truth.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I have never seen anyone recover from this wasting disease, and the pain only gets worse. He will be lucky to live out the year.’
‘Oh no,’ cried Tanya in distress. ‘I can’t believe it. Not Olaf, he is so good and kind, he doesn’t deserve to die.’
‘The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away,’ the physician told her sternly and left.
And so Tanya nursed the old man through the long winter months. His weight fell away until he was a shadow of his former self, but he still somehow managed to stay positive, and never complained. One morning, about a week before Christmas, he sat up in bed, looking almost like his old self, and cried that he had never felt better. The whole household was soon running around, happy and laughing, cooking his favourite meal, and doing everything they could for his comfort. Tanya had the fire banked up in his room, and he got out of bed to sit swathed in blankets before the leaping flames. She curled up at his feet, and he told her again of days long gone, when he was young and vigorous, and how he had loved his life. He was talking more to himself than to Tanya, and once he called her Hilda, his wife’s name. After a while, his voice faded, and he fell asleep. Tanya kissed him gently on the forehead, and tiptoed out, glad to see him so much better.
Tanya slept fitfully that night and awoke suddenly with a jump, feeling somehow that she should go to Olaf. She slipped on a wrap and hurried to his room. Creeping inside, she saw that he was awake and whispering her name. She knelt down beside him, blinking back the tears at his emaciated appearance.